Unfailing Love
by KnottedEnergy
Summary: Peeta, a navigator aboard a B-29 bomber during World War II, is the only survivor when his plane crashes behind enemy lines. Being a navigator he knows exactly where he is. What he doesn't know is that Katniss, the girl who finds him in the middle of her family's field after the plane crash, is going to change his life forever. Unique setting; Interesting take on Peeta's family
1. Fire

**[AN: This is an ****"Everlark" AU story set during World War II.**** I have tried to make it as authentic as such a thing can be. I hope you like it. I have about four chapters written so far, and the writing is going well. Thanks for reading.]**

Chapter 1: "Fire"

Aboard B-29 Bomber (June, 1944)

The plane bumps around so much that I drop the compass. It lands with a clang under my seat and begins bouncing around on the metal floor. After a minute or two I reclaim it by blindly reaching one hand under the sharp metal legs of the seat until my fingers touch it. A navigator's work is never done. Record this, record that. Check this map. Watch this flight path. Make sure we're on course. Check for any anomalies. What's the weather like? I'm good at it all because I'm meticulous by nature.

My eyes squeeze shut for protection from the bright sunlight that's streaming through my station's window. But as my eyes adjust to the sun I see that the propeller on one of the engines has stopped moving. My heart skips a beat or two before I see flames begin to lap at the edges of the engine from within its core.

"Engine fire," I whisper under my breath. Then I scream it.

"Engine fire! Engine Fire!"

I drop my compass and push my maps off my desk. Then I pick up the first heavy instrument on my desk that I can get my hand on and bang it against the metal wall as hard as I can, still yelling about the fire.

Record this, record that. Where's the fire? What's our altitude? Much too high for this, that's what our altitude is!

B-29's have not been in service that long, but my first impressions of them were all related to their tremendous size. The wings span 141 feet, and there are two engines on each wing. But at the moment the capacity of the fuel tanks comes hurling to the forefront of my mind. Thousands of gallons of fuel slosh around in the wing tanks alone. With open flames visible outside my window all I can think of is how that fuel threatens to explode at any moment.

"John!" I shout to the pilot. I can see his hands fumbling with the controls. He knows what's happening, and he'll try to set us down safely. Everything will be fine.

Suddenly, the propeller of the damaged engine snaps off and hits the side of the plane with a clatter. Flames shoot out from behind the wing. I push my whole body against the cold wall, as far from the window as I can get, as if that will save me. Denying the outcome of this flight any longer seems pointless. I grasp for anything solid to brace myself.

The plane pitches hard and begins the rapid descent that I knew to be inevitable. I'm still screaming about the fire every few seconds, hoping any other crew members who are not aware of the fire already can hear me over the noise of the trembling metal plates of the plane. But if they are also calling out to me or each other, I can't hear any of them.

Surely they all know by now.

I see the boots of the gunner stationed above me as he slides down to my level of the plane, his eyes wide with fear. The second engine on our side of the plane suddenly erupts into flame. The plane drops again, knocking me from my feet and onto the metal floor but not pulling me from the metal bar I'm holding.

No hope. We'll be a fireball in moments. I only hope we won't feel much.

I look back to the cockpit. John's still trying to regain control. He turns his head. He's moving his mouth, but I can't hear him. The gunner is pulling on my arm and starting to shimmy down to the opening of the pressurized tube that connects the front and back sections of our plane. Beside it is the unpressurized cargo area where the bombs are stored.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see John waving his hands at me, motioning for me to go with the gunner. John's a great pilot, highly dedicated. He won't bail out with any of us still onboard. But I'm afraid his devotion will only get him killed this time. If anyone gets out of this bomber alive, it's going to be by jumping. The gunner pulls my arm, and I follow him into the tube.

The next few moments run together. One second I'm on the plane, hoping it doesn't explode before we reach an altitude low enough for bailing out safely. The air's full of smoke, making knowing when to jump almost impossible. The next moment, I'm pulling my chute and sucking in a deep breath for what feels like the first time since I saw the flames lapping around the edges of the first damaged engine. My parachute catches the wind and violently pulls me back. My eyes dart from one section of sky to another, but I don't see a single other parachute even as the plane and I grow further apart and the smoke clears.

The inferno that is our plane grows larger with every second. Even though I'm well clear of the flames, my skin burns, making me writhe with pain as I hang from the parachute straps. I make noises like blowing out a candle and try to pull my legs upward without even thinking about how stupid that is. And even though I try not to look at the horror unfolding as the plane plummets into the open field below me, I hear it.

No parachutes. I'm the only one. How can I be the only one?

The very air shakes as the huge plane explodes where it burns on the ground. The fuel that spills into the water ignites, making the water glow unnaturally with flames. The fire ball rivals anything I've seen in more than two years as an airman. Debris and dark gray smoke shoot straight up into the sky several times as explosions continue to rip through the debris covered field. I twist my fingers around my parachute straps nervously as I realize the fire also serves as my entire crew's funeral pyre. They're gone. All of them. I'm alone. I'm the navigator, and I know for certain that we were much too far away to be picked up on radar or visualized by anybody who could readily help me.

My feet dangle over the shallow clear water of the rice paddy field I'm floating toward. I imagine the water splashing onto my boots and soaking through my uniform. What will I do after that? I know exactly where I am and could point it out on a map, but this is such a remote area. What will I do when I reach the ground? This part of rural China is controlled by the Japanese. Although Japan has not been able to conquer all of China they have captured and occupied much of the eastern side of the country. I'm nowhere near any allied base. Our missions are very long-range and bring us into enemy controlled territory often. My closest realistic help is probably hundreds of miles from here.

I continue to drift toward the ground, and when my feet finally touch the earth I hear a sickening crack and immediately fall into the shallow water. The parachute spreads out behind me, then on top of me. I flail my arms to push it off of my face before gathering it into my arms.

/

I wake with a searing pain shooting through my thigh. It hurt when I first fell, but not like this. I suspect I've been unconscious instead of asleep. My head throbs, and I seem to remember it hitting something metal during the fire on the plane. A metal bar, perhaps? My uniform snagged on something as well. I don't remember details. All the details blur, and perhaps they should if I'm to survive this.

My fingers dig into the mud and intermingle with the tangled roots of the water plants. Bending the leg that's not injured at the knee I try to get up from the water, but my head spins. I quickly drop back down. Muddy water splashes my face, and I instinctually pull my head up again and rip a few water plants out of the mud in response. The sudden movement sends my head spinning for a second time, and I gasp.

I'm not drowning. It's just a little water. I'm okay. Maybe not okay. But I'm not drowning.

That's when I see her. She looks like a shadow against the gray smoke billowing through the sky above us. Her shirt appears to be a dusty blue color, making her even harder to see. Her dark, piercing eyes stare at me with what I think is curiosity. Her hair is pinned back, but a few strands fall onto her forehead as she leans over me. Her eyes sit somewhat close to either side of the bridge of her small nose, which makes her look even more mysterious…and, well, beautiful. Though injured and frightened I can still appreciate a pretty face.

Just after my eyes meet hers she kneels and holds her hand briefly over my forehead before dropping it into the tangled curls of my hair. They must be matted together because as she begins pulling her fingers apart to free them from one another I feel a gentle pull on my scalp. Then she runs her fingers through easily. It feels oddly intimate because her touch is slow, tender, and methodical. And honestly, it's been a long time since any woman has so much as brushed against me much less purposely touched me. But I get the impression she's just curious. In rural China, and sometimes even in large cities, most people have never met a person with blonde hair. This isn't a sensual touch, at least not for her.

I wonder silently, when she tires of playing with my hair, will she finish me off? I mean, will she kill me? Or bring her father, husband, or brother back to kill me? Perhaps turn me over to authorities for money? I shudder.

The girl must feel it. She stills her hand on my forehead, and miraculously my head stops spinning. I exhale slowly. But something catches in my throat. Perhaps it is the smoke. I raise my head and cough violently, displacing her hand and causing her to lean away. Each cough is accompanied by a stabbing pain in my head, and I finally moan in frustration when the coughs subside. The girl watches, and she quickly places her hand in its former position on my forehead when I become still.

As the smoke clears I can see her other hand is streaked with blood as well as water, and it trembles against my side when she lays it on my shoulder. An earsplitting boom causes her to jerk her hands away from me. The plane. The fuel tanks. On fire. Everything ablaze, I'm sure. I wonder how many explosions there will be before the fire burns itself out in the shallow water of the rice paddy.

Suddenly, I feel the water splashing around me. The girl stands. As her clothes drip water and mud onto my face and arm I notice the fresh red blood stains on her sleeve. They must be my blood, but I don't know where I'm bleeding. Tiny lines form between the woman's thin eyebrows, as if she doesn't really want to do what she's thinking of doing. Then she turns and takes off running without a sound other than the splashing of her feet through the water.

I call to her, "Wait! Wait! Stop!" She doesn't stop or turn around to look at me.

In the minutes that follow I start to wonder if I actually saw or felt anyone at all. Maybe I simply wanted to believe that I did. Night begins to fall, and the air quickly chills. Heartsick, I start to think of John and my other crewmates. As the night wears on I try to keep myself from thinking about dying. I know too much about how people die. The war has taught me plenty, but my grandfather being a doctor made me more aware of death than the average young man even before the war. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and be a doctor also, but I'd known for a long time that I didn't have the stomach for it. I never told him so, and now I probably never would. There were plenty of ways for a person's body to shut down out here in this rice paddy after a plane crash. Exposure, dehydration, internal bleeding and infection come to mind as reasons that I might be leaving this world shortly. I sigh and then feel warm tears run down my cheeks. Nobody minds, after all. Nobody's here.

Ultimately, focusing on dying when you're still alive makes no sense. So Instead I try to think about my family and friends. Silly things like shopping trips with my mother come to mind. She likes to cook and made the most of what money we had to make good meals for us. I used to watch her carefully count out the change for the grocer from her little coin purse. She never wasted a penny.

I can't bring myself to think about Delly. We could have gotten married before I left. Delly wanted that. We could have run away together for at least a little while. Delly and I both thought at the time that surely a brief amount of time together would be better than none at all, but our parents rightly warned us against that kind of thinking. We knew the reasons even if our parents wouldn't give voice to all of them. Delly would have a more difficult time losing me if we deepened our relationship and I subsequently became a casualty of the war. There would also have been the possibility of leaving Delly not only a very young widow but a mother to a fatherless child as well. My child. New tears suddenly roll down both of my cheeks.

"It would be better to wait until you get back home, son," my Dad had said gently. "Just until you're back home."

Thinking about my father is too much for me because it reminds me that I'll never be a father if I die in the middle of this rice paddy. But I do love my father. So much of who I am is wrapped up in who he is. He'll be proud of me, I think. I hope. All of these sad thoughts have to stop, though. They must.

I begin to whisper anxious versions of songs I learned as a child standing between my grandparents in church. I'd usually share a hymnal with my grandmother as I watched my father look over his sermon notes one last time. On the last chorus my father would stand before his congregation. My grandmother would give me a piece of paper sometimes and let me draw. Dad's voice, sounding full of emotion and strength, would fill the sanctuary while I drew pictures of my pet rabbits, our house, the church, and my brothers. That was my world back then, a relatively simple one.

The thought of not seeing my family again creeps into my mind, plunging me into despair once more. As a lump rises in my throat I find myself desperate. I whisper the words of a song I'd been remembering singing with my grandmother in church, but this time the phrases are broken and punctuated with tears. I suppose God understands.

_"Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, _

_ darkness be over me, my rest a stone; _

_ yet in my dreams I'd be _

_ nearer, my God, to thee…_

_There let the way appear, steps unto heaven; _

_ all that thou sendest me, in mercy given; _

_ angels to beckon me_

_nearer my God to thee…" _

I stop and start to cry in earnest. "I'm not ready. Please. Please. I'm just not ready. Not yet."

My prayer becomes a silent one as I drift off into what I hope is only sleep.

/

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 1932 (age 9)_

"_That's right, Peter. Just like that," Grandmother tells me while we paint in the garden. "She lets go of my hand and lets me try to paint the character on my own._

"_Why do you like to write Chinese so much?" I ask her as she puts her paintbrush to paper again._

"_I like to paint. I like art. Just like you do. The Chinese have the prettiest writing in the whole world, don't you think? It's art," Grandmother says. Her Chinese characters look so much better than mine. Chinese is written in "characters," which are not that much like the "letters" in English. My teacher insists on good cursive handwriting on our papers at school now that we are in third grade, but cursive is easy compared to Chinese characters. I don't understand how Grandmother can make hers so neat. She says Chinese people can make them look even better and that she's still learning. _

"_Well, I haven't seen much other writing except ours and theirs," I tell her._

_Grandmother smiles. "I have, and Chinese is the most beautiful I've seen."_

_I hear the gentle sound of her paintbrush sweeping across the paper while I try to keep my own paintbrush steady._

"_Why do you and Grandfather want me to learn Chinese?" I ask her. It's not that I mind learning, but none of my friends are learning Chinese or any other language._

"_Oh, that's a good question, Peter. First of all, you're a smart boy. It's good for you to challenge yourself. Chinese is a hard language to learn. For English speakers, it's kind of like learning to do math."_

"_Yes, it is kind of like that," I agree with a smile. "I like math."_

_Grandmother laughs a little. _

"_And many more people in this world speak Chinese than speak English. Most people don't know that. And someday your Grandfather and I might get to go back to China. You might want to go with us, or you might go to China on your own someday," she explains. "It's a land close to our family's heart."_

"_Grandmother, why'd you leave China?" I ask._

_Grandmother sighs. I knew she would be upset and shouldn't have asked the question at all. Still, I was curious. _

"_There were many reasons. Nobody has much money right now, Peter. The church couldn't afford to keep us working in China. They even had to close the hospital we helped to start, but I still hope that someday we will be able to go back."_

_She paused for just a moment._

"_There were some other reasons as well, Peter, but I don't think you'll understand those until you are a little older."_

/

The next time I wake up I'm not praying, I'm screaming. Someone is touching my injured thigh, but the touch feels like I'm being stabbed. My thoughts jumble together just like they did on the plane during the fire, but the next words I hear bring all my priorities back into focus.

"We should kill him and burn his body. He'll never live," I hear a voice say in Chinese. My eyes, which had previously been squeezed shut, fly open. The girl hovering over me seems about my age. I squint. She looks strangely familiar. Could she be the girl who visited me before? What she was saying didn't match the tenderness I'd felt before.

"Kill him? You don't even know who he is or why he's here," a younger Chinese girl answers. She's the one touching my leg, and I want to push her away. Since she's arguing against killing me at the moment, I manage to restrain myself.

"You know if they find him here they'll punish us, probably kill us," the older girls points out, her voice as melodic as her words are hateful. Then again, she might be right. In terms of their own safety, killing me might be their best option. Morality is another matter.

As if reading my mind the younger girl interrupts. "Killing him is not right."

"Maybe I don't mean kill him then. It would be better if he died and we burned his body. We don't have to kill him," the older girl points out.

"He's from that plane. Where do you think that plane was going?" The younger girl asks as if she knows the answer and expects the older girl to know it also.

"Japan," the older girl whispers, then pauses. "Or somewhere near Japan."

"And what do you think that big plane was going to do in Japan?" the younger girl asks.

The older girl looks down, thoughtful. She wrings her hands.

"Bombs," I choke out in Chinese. "Bring bombs." At least that's what I hope I'm saying. I would say "Bomb the Japanese munitions factories," but I didn't know how. I can understand much more Chinese than I can speak. My C.O. back in our base in India would probably say I shouldn't say anything, but these girls might be my only chance at survival. Plus, the way the older one said "Japan" makes me sure she views the Japanese as the enemy.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Do these girls believe that as well?

The younger of the two leans back and away from me, her jaw having dropped down in astonishment when I spoke. The older one stares, her eyes wide with wonder. They're no doubt shocked that a blonde man like me could speak a word of Chinese. I suppose if a Chinese person literally dropped out of the sky and started speaking English back in Pittsburgh I'd do the same. Then again, maybe I accidently said something offensive.

The younger girl quickly regains her composure and resumes her arguments against killing me. "How can you kill a man who flew a plane over your home to bomb China's enemy and still say you are loyal to China?" she asks indignantly. I'm relieved that I've judged their loyalties accurately.

"How does he know how to speak any Chinese? Who is he?" the older one asks in response. She eyes me suspiciously and starts examining my parachute and uniform with her deft fingers. I notice the straps of the parachute have been cut off of my shoulders unevenly, and my bomber jacket lies across my chest. I wonder if they've put it there to keep be warm or simply to look at it.

I attempt to move my leg away from the younger girl because she keeps touching it, but moving is definitely the wrong decision. I fist the few water plants I haven't already pulled from the mud and fight the urge to scream again. My hands continue to clench every time my heart-beat sends another painful throbbing sensation through me. I feel sick and turn my head to the side where the older girl is kneeling. Our eyes meet again, and hers all but glisten. But I turn my head further still because I don't want to look at her as I get sick, if I do. Connecting with these girls could save me, but a haze of pain, nausea, and fear make concentration difficult at best. Once the waves of physical misery dissipate a bit I start with an additional strategy.

"If you help me, the US government will…" I begin in broken Chinese while gesturing my hand to the fabric sign sewn onto the back of my bomber jacket that explains that I'm a US airman and that my government will offer protection to anyone who returns me safely. Every airman wears the same message on his jacket, and it's written in multiple languages, including Chinese.

"We aren't telling anybody about him!" the older girl states firmly to the younger one. She doesn't address me directly or even look at me again.

The younger girl nods. She does look at me, her eyes softening. She starts to reach her hand out, then stops when the older one tells her "no."

Both girls rise to their feet and start to walk away. I call to them in both English and Chinese, but they ignore me.

I lay still in the shallow water, trembling and hoping they'll come back.

**[AN: Yes! If you are wondering - the "older girl" is Katniss, and the "younger girl" is Prim.]**

**[Follow me on tumblr - .com ] **

**[Special thanks to: my awesome beta - Katnissinme, my eternally patient "plot advisor" – Loueze, and the amazingly talented Ro Nordmann for the banner/cover art for this story]**


	2. Shelter

Chapter 2: "Shelter"

[AN: Hello all! Thanks for reading! Our Chinese characters have been given Chinese names that are hopefully easy to remember: Katniss=Cai (first sound is the same same); Gale=Gao (first letter is the same); Min=Prim (sounds similar). To be authentic I just couldn't make Katniss' "real" name as a Chinese person "Katniss" - you'll see that "Katniss" as a name comes into the story later, though.]

_The girls who found me want to survive, just as I do_, I tell myself.

I respect their decision in my stronger moments. In my weaker ones I fight feeling frustrated with them for not at least trying to reduce my misery. They could have gotten me out of this water, away from the sun, and safe from predators that might attack me. Would that really have been so much to ask? Then I remind myself of how afraid they must be. This is war. Civilians can suffer as much as soldiers, occasionally even more.

Earlier in the war the US bombed Tokyo. The airmen who executed the small raid could only fly so far from Japan before depleting their fuel supplies, leaving many of them trapped in occupied China. Chinese civilians helped most of the airmen escape into allied territory. Outraged by the attack on their homeland and the Chinese civilians' attempts to protect the Americans responsible, the Japanese military punished several provinces of China. _Hundreds _of _Thousands_ of Chinese people were killed, and whole villages were burned over the escape of around 60 US airmen. Tragically, many of the people punished probably didn't even know what made the Japanese so angry. _That's _the kind of utter brutality happening during this war. These girls have every reason to be afraid.

_Perhaps it doesn't matter what these girls do or don't do,_ I tell myself. _I'm slowly bleeding to death anyway. _

My eyes start to close. I stare at the sky, willing myself to stay awake and opening my eyes as widely as I can. They sting when the dust in the air hits them, but no tears form. My body doesn't have enough fluid left to spare for tears. A wave of panic slowly rises. I'm afraid if my eyes close then they'll never open again, but I know that people can die with their eyes open, too. Trying to cope with the onslaught of my fears exhausts me. My eyelids flutter closed. Darkness. The panic rises again, slower this time. My heart still speeds up, but the beating feels weaker in my chest.

I find myself jealous of wounded soldiers who make it to hospitals and die in the fog of pain medications, men I once pitied. A few might even have their hands held by caring nurses to ease them on their way. Not me. This water will be all that holds me while I pass out of this world. I do eventually sleep a little, but I'm plagued by nightmares of the fire on the plane. Fortunately, not all of my dreams are terrible. Some are nostalgic and bittersweet. I miss home so much. I wish I could see it once more.

I always knew this could happen to me, of course. From the moment I knew for certain that my country would be drawn into the war, I knew.

/

_December 7th, 1941 (age 18) _

_The letters on the page start to blur together as my eyes close. Two more exams and I get to go home for Christmas. I force my eyes open and shake my head. Two more exams. _

"_Hey, Pete!" my roommate says as he nudges my shoulder with his hand. "Didn't that preacher father of yours ever teach you that Sunday is the day of rest?" _

"_Sunday was definitely the day of work for him, trust me," I joke sleepily. "Besides I was resting, sort of."_

"_Come downstairs and listen to the game," he suggests. "I want to see how the Dodgers are doing, and you need to get out of this stuffy room. That radiator's way too hot." _

_I'm about to tell him I'd rather take a nap, a nap that's probably only being encouraged by the overly hot radiator, when I hear running in the hall outside our room. One of our dorm mates comes to a sudden halt right outside our room, his shoes actually squeaking from the fast turn he makes to face us._

"_Peter, what's Pearl Harbor?" he asks. _

"_A naval base," I tell him. "Why?" _

"_It's our naval base?" he asks._

"_Yeah, it's in Hawaii. Why?" _

_There's yelling in the hallway, and our nervous looking dorm mate looks away toward the source of the noise._

"_The Japanese just attacked it," he says quietly and urgently. "They just said so on the radio." He pauses for a moment before asking me to clarify again, "So it's definitely one of our naval bases?" _

"_Yes, yes," I stammer, still hoping he's joking about the whole thing. Practical jokes are pretty common around here, and they know I've been keeping up with the news closely and am into geography. It's just the kind of trick someone would pull on me._

"_Where's Manila?" he asks his voice uneven._

"_The Philippines," I answer._

"_They said something about Manila, too," he continues. He looks white as a sheet, and I realize he can't be joking. His reactions are much too real._

"_Come on," I say, waving them out of the room. "I wanna' hear this myself."_

_Even before we get to the common room I know there's no joke. I feel a strange sense of doom. The common room's full of boys. Somebody's already pushed a window up so a couple of boys standing outside in the cold can listen to the radio broadcast along with the rest of us. There's a man on the radio saying that he's in Honolulu. He says there are Japanese planes flying around everywhere. _

"_What do you think is going to happen now?" my roommate asks._

_Why people ask me these things, I don't know. I answer him, though. Maybe that's why they ask._

"_I think we won't be able to avoid the war anymore," I tell him sadly. "The waiting's over. Now we know."_

_/ _

_Christmas Eve 1941_

_The whole house smells like Mother's cooking, and I don't see how anybody could be so argumentative when we're about to eat all that good food. Besides, we might not be spending Christmas together again for a while. My brother finds a way to ruin it, though._

"_So you get through three and a half years at this damn prep school and you're going to drop out a semester before graduation? Why?" My brother demands an explanation, a good one._

"_I'm not the only one, and you know why," I tell him. "What I've already done will still matter, and after the war I'll be given credit somehow. I'm sure of it. My school's not going to punish me for serving my country," I tell him._

"_Oh, they might. I wouldn't put it past them. Snobs."_

"_Stop it," I tell him._

"_So you're just going to volunteer?" he asks. "Why don't you just wait a little longer? See what happens."_

"_Is that what you're going to do?" I ask him._

"_Maybe," he tells me._

_I shift my weight from one foot to the other nervously. _

"_Look, you have to let me do what I know is right. For me. I'm not saying that what I do is right for you. This is one of those things that is each person's individual decision to make."_

"_Really? What about Delly? Have you thought about her?"_

_I hesitate. Dad steps in the room and frowns at me and then my brother._

"_Change the subject," he orders. _

_My brother crosses his arms defiantly. "There's not much else anybody is talking about, Dad."_

"_I mean it. You're upsetting your mother. Either change the subject or take it outside," my father insists._

/

I'm still among the living and struggling to stay that way when the sun rises. At first I'm sure I'm hallucinating when I see the younger of the girls who found me yesterday approach me. She's carrying some kind of farm tool that looks remarkably like a shovel.

_They really are going to kill me_.

For the first time I have no reaction at all to the thought of dying. I only wonder how they will hasten the end of my life.

_They don't hate me. They'll be merciful about it, won't they?_

The girl drops the shovel near my parachute and kneels down beside me. She reaches her small hand out toward my thigh, and I tense immediately.

_Please don't touch me. Just don't. _

She must sense my silent hopes because she stops and simply looks at my leg for a long moment rather than touching it.

"It doesn't look worse," she says slowly.

Resigned, I close my eyes. Who cares if my leg looks worse or not?

"What's your name?" the girl asks.

I look up at her, surprised. Why would she want to know my name?

"Peter," I whisper through my chapped lips.

"Pee-ta," she repeats.

Close enough. I'm probably mispronouncing half of the Chinese words I say. I'm not going to correct how this girl says my name.

"We are going to hide you, Pee-ta," she tells me.

A warm feeling slowly rises in my chest and into my throat as relief floods me.

"Thank you," I manage to whisper. "Thank you so much," I say again as I close my eyes for just a moment.

"Where?" I ask.

She gestures toward a rocky ridge at the other end of the field.

"I can't walk," I tell her honestly.

"More are coming," she tells me.

I sigh worriedly. Every person who knows I survived the plane crash increases the chances that I'll be killed or captured, but the possibility of shelter is worth the risk.

"What's your name?" I ask her. She smiles shyly and looks down at the water.

"Min," she answers.

/

The idea of getting out of this water sounds like heaven to me, but I wonder what kind of damage the water might have done to my skin. I'm worried about my injured leg too. I can wiggle my toes and feel the water against my skin, but the water feels different than it does against my other leg. There's a strange numb sensation in my injured leg even though there is pain.

The sun is rising higher into the sky, and I suspect an hour or so has passed when I ask Min, "Who is coming?"

"My sister and Gao," she answers.

Will they want to kill me or give me to the enemy? I wonder.

"Gao is a friend. You met my sister, Cai, yesterday. She doesn't think letting you die is the best anymore. I have the good fortune of being like my mother. You have the good fortune that my mother is a healer. She will tell us what to do for your leg," Min says with what sounds like an edge of hope.

Min stands up and motions in the direction of two approaching figures. A fog has moved in, but I can see that one is her sister, Cai. The other is a man as tall as me, perhaps taller. They whisper to each other quietly, and I can only catch a few phrases.

"It's happened before…don't trust…remember what happened to my father."

The man is doing most of the talking. Cai is carrying several fairly straight sticks. She holds two of them out to the man. He measures them against each other and then breaks off the end of one stick so that it is the same length as the other. Then the man gives the two sticks to Min before staring at me ominously. I find myself leaning away from him.

Min places one of her hands on my upper thigh and the other one at the knee of my injured leg. I manage to prop myself on my elbows, which sink into the mud. The man shakes his head and turns away. I don't understand all of what Min says, probably because I'm focusing on the fact that she's probably about to move my leg.

"Keep it still…walk with us…"

For the first time I notice that Min is holding a few pieces of ragged cloth. They look gray and dirty. Min motions to Cai who promptly kneels down with her. Then Min puts a hand on either side of my thigh, moving the skin just slightly. She presses her hands into the swollen skin, and I gasp as pain shoots through me, taking my breath away. So much for my leg feeling numb. She presses harder, and my teeth bite hard into the inside of my lower lip until I taste blood and my vision blurs into a white haze. Ashamed, I look up at the clouds in the sky. Looking weak in front of this other man who doesn't appear to like the girls helping me can't be good.

"Broken," Min declares unceremoniously. I glance at my leg. Yes, that makes sense. I remember a cracking sound. Cai moves my uninjured leg away from the other one by pulling against the knee, and I finally see where the blood has been coming from. There's a deep gash on the broken leg just above the knee. My uniform is ripped over the cut. Suddenly I recall a sharp piece of metal from the plane cutting into my leg.

I consider how dirty the cut looks. Back home my grandfather would first be horrified by the cut, then adjust his glasses, and finally proceed to clean the cut thoroughly before stitching it closed. But I'm not at home. I have no idea what we can do for this cut. It looks terrible. The skin surrounding the cut is puffy and red. Cai puts her hand just below my knee and lifts my leg up a little. The pain is still awful, but the look on her face distracts me. She grimaces and has to turn away. I narrow my eyes. She seems so strong yet…not strong. I wonder if she could have killed me even if she had decided that was her best option. Cai takes some of the strips of fabric from Min and gently ties them around the gash on my leg. Her hands have to touch my leg in the process. The movements are hesitant, gentle, warm, and completely different from Min's confident ones. Our eyes meet as she finishes tying the fabric together. Her lower lip quivers, and I don't know what to make of that. This time I'm the one who looks away.

Min proceeds to lay one of the sticks against the outside of my injured leg and the other against the inside. Then Cai holds the sticks in place while Min tightly ties the sticks together so that they splint my leg. Min leans back, looking satisfied with their work.

The man turns around and says something I don't understand. Then he reaches for my arm and pulls it up while staring fiercely into my eyes. I get the distinct impression that he doesn't think much of me, so I glance nervously from Cai to Min and back to Cai.

Min waves her arms and tells him to stop. "He can't walk," she tells the man.

The man lets go of my arm abruptly, and my shoulders drop back down. A frustrated look crosses his face. He clenches his jaw, grabs my arm again, and abruptly pulls upward. This time I know he's not going to stop no matter what Min or Cai have to say. Apparently reaching the same conclusion, Min quickly grasps my other arm and shoulder, pushing me up with her small body's weight. Cai's feet slosh through the water of the rice paddy as she rushes to get behind me. She pushes her hands against my back to help me get upright. Water and mud slip down my uniform and into the water at my feet. The splint helps with the pain tremendously. I'm surprised to be tolerating movement better, but I can barely balance on one leg even with help. We take uncoordinated steps forward, with Gao moving much too fast. But at least I'm moving.

I stumble along between Min and the man they call Gao until we finally reach the edge of the rocky ridge. With my head tucked down I'm increasingly struggling, and Min notices.

"Stop now, Gao. Let him rest."

Gao ignores her, and tries to continue on until Min stops moving completely, protesting his lack of capitulation. Min appears to be the expert on my physical condition and what's best for me at present. At least Min thinks she is. Gao apparently disagrees. My shoulder blades are pulled apart briefly as Gao moves forward and Min refuses to follow. Then Gao sighs and starts to let go of my shoulder. Min slows his departure, by scolding him a little. It's clear they are close.

Cai lags behind, carrying the shovel. I look back at her. Her skin tone is darker and she is taller than Min. She looks more like Gao. Min said he was a friend, but they could be brother and sister. Maybe they are cousins. The way she listens and watches reminds me of that rare quality of quiet intelligence that I find so intriguing in certain people. I hope she'll talk more because I bet she's interesting, and she distracts me from my dire predicament. Being fascinated by someone who considered letting me die less than twenty-four hours ago strikes me as odd, but that's exactly what's happening.

Gao takes several steps forward and turns his head from side to side, surveying the rice paddy. I follow his gaze as he does. Smoke still rises from the smoldering remains of the B-29 and the fuel it carried. Cai walks up beside him, leaving me alone with Min sitting on the ground.

"Who is Gao?" I ask. "Your brother?"

An amused expression crosses Min's face.

I start to feel dizzy again and decide to lean back on my elbows.

"Oh, no," Min says, "he was to be my brother-in-law, but there have been some problems."

[Please review: I'm wondering what you all think!]


	3. Last Hope

Peeta's POV

Gao throws his hand out toward the remains of the plane and angrily spouts off about the dangers of anyone finding me on the farm. As much as I want Cai, Gao and Min to help me survive, I know Gao is right. My presence puts all of them in terrible danger. I drop my head sadly. Fortunately, this field appears rather remote. No structures of any kind dot the horizon, and I haven't even seen a place where Cai's family might live.

Deciding the only matter I have any control over is minimizing the danger, I tell Min I'm ready to try and walk again. By getting out of sight I hope to make us all a little safer. I also push my hand forward to try to demonstrate what I mean to say just in case I haven't said it correctly. It's a technique I'm finding useful to make myself understood.

Gao looks annoyed at his monologue being interrupted but does approach me again. Hauling me up roughly by my arm, he maneuvers himself to support my weakest side while Cai simultaneously takes over Min's former role of supporting my other shoulder. She falters just a little, and my broken leg touches the ground abruptly as I try to take some of the pressure off of her body. I gasp, and her dark eyes mesmerize me for just a moment when she looks over to figure out what's happening. Her dark, straight hair brushes against my cheek as she lowers her gaze once more. Gao suddenly pulls me forward, and slowly we begin our awkward, shuffling walk.

Min runs ahead, and I see her approach what looks like a small outcrop of rocks in the otherwise flat landscape. She uses the shovel to push aside a few rocks, revealing the mouth of a small cave. I look to Cai curiously, wondering if my long wait in the field alone had something to do with preparing this hiding place. Cai's still looking down. I can feel the muscles of her shoulder, neck, and arms straining under my weight as I tire. I try to avoid leaning any more of my weight on her than is necessary. She's small, but strong.

The last of my energy reserves finally fades completely, and I struggle to keep my broken leg off the ground for the last few yards of the journey to the cave. I can feel myself beginning to lose my balance when Cai puts her tired arm around my waist to try and steady me. My teeth clench as I try to push myself to make it just a little bit further. With no warning, Gao suddenly releases the arm that he'd been supporting, letting me go. Since I was already preparing to lower myself to the ground I don't fall. I see Cai look up and glare at Gao while she kneels to assist in lowering me down to the ground as gently as she can without Gao's help. She thanks Gao for his assistance despite his sudden abandonment just before he indignantly turns away.

Even I know Gao's actions are impolite at best. I sense an undercurrent and want to ask if everything is all right, but that's not my business and would probably make Gao more irate. The intricacies of an interpersonal disagreement would likely escape me if somebody explained them to me in Chinese anyway.

Cai (Katniss') POV

Gao continues to infuriate me constantly, and I wonder if he's doing so on purpose. He appears angry with me but he has no right to be. He's the one breaking our engagement even though I've been promised to him since we were too young to understand what that even meant. He can pretend he is angry with me for assisting a foreigner, but that isn't our greatest disagreement.

I remember the first time I saw Gao, his serious demeanor obvious even at the age of ten. He was supposed to be the answer to my family's dilemma, our hope, and my future. His gangly arms and legs didn't convince me that he could be so important. In fact, I remained stronger than him and of more use on the farm for several more years. He did possess one obvious quality that I did not, however. He was male.

Our fathers had been great friends before and after they had families. As the years went by my father became increasingly distressed that our family had no male children, so Gao's father eventually promised Gao to be our family's male heir as well as my husband. My parents then raised Gao in our home for those purposes. At the time of marriage we'd simply assume our new roles in my family's home as opposed to me entering the home of his family as his wife. This tradition dates back many generations, and was appropriate in our situation. But Gao doesn't respect the old ways.

So the first day I met Gao was the day his father brought him to live in our home. I asked, "Who is that boy, and why is he here?"

My mother tried to explain his presence in a way an eight-year-old would understand, "Your father promised you to him when you were a baby. When you are old enough, he will be your husband," she said.

"Like you and father?" I asked with a nervous gasp as my eyes grew wide with fear.

She answered quickly, "Someday like father and me. For now he will be something like Min is to you."

Gao didn't act like Min, though. Being two years older and unhappily living with the family of his betrothed, his anger often boiled over.

Of course, Gao wouldn't inherit money or land from a poor family like ours, but he would be respected. He'd have a place as the leader of our family in our community, a community built around our landlord and his tenant farmers. In his own family Gao was one of several sons, but in our family he was incredibly valuable. We gave Gao the best of what little we had. He has repaid us with disloyalty, telling me that our engagement continues an old and outdated system that should be abolished. So, we remain unmarried. He considers being promised to be my husband and our male heir a humiliation of some sort, whereas I see it as an honor.

Around the time Gao and I could have married we found ourselves just inside the tree line of the most distant field gathering wood. Suddenly I felt a soft brush against my shoulder and turned around to find Gao staring at me, an odd expression on his face. Without warning he bent down and pressed his lips to mine. His strong hands wrapped around my waist. His bold actions stunned me, but I accommodated them. Gao's lips continued to move awkwardly against mine. He pulled me closer, and I felt my body tighten with apprehension as his seemed to relax.

_This must be the time,_ I thought, _the time when he sees me for what I will be to him for the rest of our lives. _

Feeling both frightened and happy I smiled against his mouth. The realization that he saw me as a woman, not the little girl he'd met years ago, settled pleasantly into my chest. Gao's hands moved to the small of my back, and I leaned in just a little, wondering what would happen next. Then all of his efforts stopped as suddenly as they'd begun.

"We could run away. You and me, we could make it. Find another life," he said.

The intensity in his voice overwhelmed me, but I knew that intensity had nothing to do with the moment we'd just shared. He rested his forehead on mine gently, but his eyes remained tightly closed as if he couldn't bear to look at me as he said what he needed to say.

"What…what are you talking about? We would starve, sentencing mother and Min to the same fate," I answered once his meaning sunk into my addled mind. "Why would you even want to run away?"

Gao took in a shuddering breath and opened his red and swollen eyes before continuing, "So we could choose who we marry. Don't you wish you could choose?"

"No," I answered angrily, knowing then that his intentions were to avoid marrying me and to deny our family children by him. He'd hinted at such intentions before but never stated such rebellion outright.

"Terrible things are happening all around us, Cai. You just don't understand. I don't want to tell you because they _are_ so terrible. Much worse things than starvation are happening. Running is a chance we should take," Gao swallowed hard. I sighed.

"You can tell me whatever you want. I can handle it," I replied.

"No. No I won't. All I'll say is that worry about those kinds of things happening closer to us is keeping me up at night, worrying about you…all of you," Gao squeezed me with his fingers where he still held me. "I want to go to Yunnan. That's where everything is happening. People there want to make changes. They can save China, Cai. They can stop these awful things from happening to our people. If they can win, our lives will be better. We can marry who we want, and we'll be given land to farm. The land won't be a nobleman's property. They can stop all the foreigners. _All_ of them. Even the Japanese. Do you have any idea what the Japanese are doing? Do you?" He stared at me, blinking. Then he continued, "We can make it to Yunnan…"

"I don't even know where that is. What good could we do there? If that's where everything is happening then that's exactly where we shouldn't be," I screamed. "You shame me and shame yourself! You need to stay here and _marry me_. We have to keep our family alive. Don't let them starve over this idea you have. If you want to protect us then _stay here_. Let the soldiers fight their war, and we will fight the one we must fight right here," I grabbed his forearms and pushed his hands away from me a little more forcefully than I should have.

Gao looked off to the side, quiet and enduring some obviously painful emotion that I couldn't even identify. Nor did I care to identify it. My family had invested in him by housing and feeding him for a decade, relieving his larger family of another mouth to feed. But Gao refused to take his place as my husband despite it all: tradition, honor, and friendship. With both of our fathers dead there was little we women could do to convince him otherwise.

Then the conversation turned more personal. Gao looked at me, a certain sadness edging into his expression. Then he looked down before he whispered, "Nothing stirs inside me for you, Cai." The wind rustled the leaves in the trees that formed a canopy above us. "Not even just now while I touched you." He backed away. I stood straighter, outraged and resentful of his rejection. My brow furrowed, not understanding what he thought should stir. Only anger stirred in me.

But now as I watch this strange light-haired man before me, I wonder why something strange stirs in me for him. Maybe it is only mercy. One thing is certain; you cannot choose who rouses these stirrings. If I could have avoided feeling them at all then I would have.

As I place my arm across his waist to help steady his walking a shiver runs through me. I imagine his pale hands on my waist the way Gao's once were, pulling me closer to him until we touch. A strange want and need begins to overtake my thoughts. Suddenly I fear him, not because he dropped from the sky or is what some would call a "foreign devil," but because being near him makes my body irrepressible. This must be what Gao meant by a stirring inside of a person for another. But who has Gao felt this stirring for if not me? How did he know what it was? Would he ever feel it for me? Would I ever feel it for him? Gao and I are still my family's future, if we have a future at all.

Peeta's POV

Cai crawls into the cave and then pokes her head out, gesturing for me to follow her. I have to keep my leg out straight in front of me and slide in backwards by scooting on my rear end. The process takes some time. Once I'm inside I find a flat area in the middle of the small space where they've laid out a blanket that must be for me. Tears well up in my eyes, this time for entirely different reasons. Exhausted, I lie down and turn toward the wall of the cave to let the tears fall unseen. I can hear the girls talking softly to one another as I doze off, feeling a little more secure in the relative safety of the cave.

/

I wake up to an older woman shaking my shoulders. She looks remarkably like Min, but she has wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a stern expression not characteristic of Min at all.

"…our mother," Min explains.

The older woman searches my eyes, watching them carefully for more than a minute. She reaches her hand to my chin and pulls down, encouraging me to open my mouth. Oddly, she says nothing. At first I wonder what she's doing. Then she lifts my hands, turns them over, stares at them, and turns them over again. My clothes are still soaking wet and filthy with mud. The woman unbuttons my shirt and pulls down the sleeves to reveal my chest, arms, and shoulders. I start to realize that she's looking me over for injuries as well as taking off my wet clothes. In another minute or two she's efficiently removed the splint on my leg also and ordered her daughters to turn away.

She's brusque but seems to know what she's doing as she examines me. She points to the belt on my uniform pants. I look behind me to check that Cai and Min have obeyed their mother. Both are dutifully staring at the cave wall. The older woman nods impatiently as I turn my attention back to her. I wonder why she's in such a hurry. Is she so busy that this examination needs to be done so quickly? When I finally allow her to remove my pants and fully examine my leg my attention quickly shifts from potential embarrassment to ways to conceal my reactions to the pain that even the slightest manipulations of my leg bring. When she moves my leg more abruptly I gasp audibly.

_Oh, God that hurts. I just want to go home, back to before all of this happened._

_G_ritting my teeth is no use. I end up cursing and crying out anyway. There's rustling and movement beside me, but I don't even look back. As if she's suddenly gotten all the information she needs, the older woman quickly covers me from just under my neck to my feet with the blanket. She leaves my injured leg mostly uncovered. Then she whispers to Cai and Min as I work to regain my composure. I watch as she tosses my filthy uniform toward the mouth of the cave.

Cai's mother turns her head awkwardly and stares at the gash on the inside of my injured leg. I look down to see what's so interesting. The reddened skin seems stretched too thin. The swelling makes the wound difficult to see from my angle, but I can see some blood. I can't feel any running down my skin, though. Maybe the bleeding has finally stopped. Cai's mother's hands feel ice cold when she touches the reddened skin above the cut.

Understanding Cai's mother is more difficult for me, especially since she's in such a rush. She mumbles to her daughters, but I only catch some a few words, "watch…give…time…water…Gao...tea…die." While she talks she re-ties the splint over my bare leg.

As she finishes I tug at the blanket so it covers all of me, even my injured leg. I watch as Min crawls out of the cave, dragging my uniform along with her. Her mother follows, still mumbling. I should have paid much more attention during my grandmother's Chinese lessons.

Cai moves closer and into my view, and I wonder if she plans to stay with me. My grandmother once told me that some people in China believe that if a person dies alone they will remain alone and sad in the afterlife.

"Some of them were afraid of a lonely ghost haunting them, Peter," she told me. "So we had to make sure the ones that were afraid of that got to stay with their sick loved ones at the hospital. Otherwise, they wouldn't come to see us."

Could Cai believe such things? Perhaps not. She left me alone last night. China is a big country with many people and beliefs.

"Min says your name is Peeta," Cai says softly, touching my forehead with cool fingers.

I turn my head to get a better view of her.

"Yes," I say.

"You are in a lot of pain," she adds, and I nod.

"I'm going to take care of you, Peeta." she replies.

Cai 's (Katniss') POV

Min told me his name. It would have been easier not to know his name. As he cried out in pain at my mother moving his leg my heart clenched in my chest. I wanted to run away, but I stayed. Abandoning him again would have been just like killing him. Yes, it would have been better for me not to know his name, but whether I knew his name or not, I couldn't have left him.

Mother says he's my responsibility since I'm the one who decided we should go back for him. To distract myself I read the message sewn into his jacket again. My father made sure I learned to read. He didn't care that others said I didn't need to know.

I was leaning over tending to plants in the middle of the field when the earsplitting boom startled me so badly that I fell to my knees. I covered my head and shook with fear. Daring to look up moments later, I saw a giant plane falling out of the sky. Thick black smoke billowed out from behind it. A man suddenly fell from the plane and through the sky. A shudder of revulsion ran through me at the thought of his body colliding with the ground.

When the plane hit the ground it exploded into a ball of fire. The ground trembled under my knees. The wave of heat from the fire caused me to crawl backwards to distance myself from the heat, and even though I had covered my ears when I removed my hands they were still ringing. Then the man caught my eye again. He hadn't fallen to the ground yet. In fact, he was suspended in the air by ropes and a gray fabric that spread out over his head. He floated down to the field like a bird, but his landing lacked a bird's grace. He tumbled into the field with a splash. I saw him move and knew he was alive.

My mother would have told me to run away even though pilots are respected. But I could tell by the markings on the plane that it did not belong to Japan. The man was looking away when I approached him, his arms still moving around in the gray fabric that surrounded him. Then he turned his head toward me. I'd met a few other people like him before, but he looked different than them. His hair was the color of wheat when the evening sun shines through it, and his eyes reminded me of a darkened blue sky. His hands looked pale as they gripped the gray fabric.

His chest rose and fell very fast, and I started to turn away and run. Just then his fear-filled eyes seemed to finally focus on mine completely, as if he hadn't even seen me before that moment. I couldn't look away from them. I leaned over him to touch his golden-colored hair, and his breathing slowed and deepened when I dropped my hand to his head. And suddenly I became afraid. I imagined that he could grab my wrist and hurt me, but the look in his eyes was so gentle that I didn't take my hand away. Instead I ran my fingers through his hair. He shivered.

His jacket fell open, and I noticed some writing inside…Chinese writing and other writing. As I grasped the jacket with my free hand the man flinched. I stopped and looked in his eyes again before I ran my fingers along the white fabric of the sign on which the character were written. It had been sewn inside the man's jacket with small uneven stitches. The sign depicted the flag of China…our China…China free of Japan. Beside it was another flag that I assumed was that of his country, but it had the same colors as the Chinese flag. My heart began to beat even faster knowing that he was indeed on our side. The written message was simple. Any literate farmer could decipher it, and my father made sure I learned to read despite the fact that I am a girl.

"I am an American airman," the message read. "My plane is destroyed. I cannot speak your language. I am an enemy of the Japanese. Please give me food and take me to the nearest allied military post. You will be rewarded."

_No_, I thought, _we will not be rewarded. We'll be killed before we can get him to his people._

I watch the man now, just as I watched him then, just as confused, conflicted, and frightened as I had been then. But I know I can't leave him.

Peeta's POV

Cai lays her hand on my shoulder. Soon I'm drifting off to sleep again, my head rolling just a little so my cheek rests on her hand. Her hand feels cold, but comforting. I feel weaker when I wake up. Cai is there when I wake, encouraging me to sit up and boosting my shoulders up a little with her hands. I try to raise them off the cave floor. Min kneels in front of me, encouraging me to drink water from a metal cup. I only manage a few sips before dropping my swimming head back down to lean against Cai's shoulder. She feels cool and soft. I want to touch her so much, something I can't quite explain and feel rather guilty about. How can I be so captivated by this girl I met yesterday? I must have hit my head awfully hard, or maybe I just need her comfort. Something about her soothes my fears. Her concern for me is obvious, despite the fact that it's partially hidden behind a harsh veneer of self-protectiveness. Min is more clinical in her interactions with me and reminds me of my grandfather. I'm dizzy and nauseous again, probably from trying to sit up. I lay my head down and stare at a single speck on the wall, drifting off as Cai and Min whisper about me.

A little while later, I hear someone moving the rocks at the mouth of the cave and instinctively scoot back a little further into the darkness. Not knowing what kind of dangers I face even here in this cave has been unnerving. The sounds indicate only one set of hands moving the rocks and no real hurry to get inside, though. Still, I can't help but be afraid at hearing something moving outside the cave. Earlier what I think must have been a small animal kept me feeling on edge for a long time by scratching around on the rocks above me.

I watch as Cai crawls through the opening of the cave and replaces the rocks behind her. She must be planning to stay for a while. I can't understand the first part of what Cai says to me, but the sentence ends with something about "food." She offers me a small bowl of soup. The bottom of the bowl looks like it has rice in it. The smell of food turns my stomach, but I don't want to seem ungrateful.

"Thank you," I tell Cai in the most polite way I know how.

Since my grandfather is a doctor and helped teach me the Chinese I am able to speak, I actually know a few words about medicine and illness. After staring at my meal of rice and broth for a few minutes as Cai hold holds it in her delicate looking hands, I try to explain that I can't eat right now.

Cai frowns and sits down beside me.

"You need to eat," she tells me. She looks down at the bowl, and I wonder if she prepared what's in it for me herself.

"I can't," I tell her sadly.

"Try. You must eat and drink."

I close my eyes, swallow, and wonder how I can possibly explain that I'm going to be sick if I eat the food or even drink anything. I suddenly realize that I'm wearing my uniform again. One of the women must have washed it for me because when I look down at my chest most of the mud is gone. It's dry. I wonder with a shiver who dressed me because I don't remember doing it myself.

Cai nudges my shoulder to gain my attention and kneels beside me, lifting my head to help me eat more comfortably. As I stop daydreaming I notice that she's offering me some of the rice and soup with a spoon. I must look bewildered because she shyly smiles at me. She's doing something only my own mother has ever done for me. Even my mother only did it when I was very young. I can't tell Cai "no" anymore because I'm afraid she be even more upset and worried if I don't eat. So, I try. I hold my breath, open my mouth, and swallow the food. It's doesn't turn my stomach as much as I thought it would.

After a few bites I repeat, "Thank you," and put my hand up to try to politely refuse more. Cai keeps offering spoonfuls of rice, though. I fight back the nausea until I've eaten almost all of what's left in the bowl, but finally I start to gag a little with each bite. I lift my hand and gently push the bowl away while repeating how grateful I am. Cai nods. Then she begins to eat what's left of the food. That doesn't really surprise me. I don't know exactly how much food Cai's family has, but based on the fact that they are all quite thin it can't be that much. I suspect they have to give someone else, maybe a land owner, most of the rice that it appears they grow. They probably don't waste a grain of rice, which is one of many reasons I hope I don't get sick.

"I have a name like yours," Cai says quietly as she finishes the bowl of rice and sits it down beside her. Although I don't know them well I have gathered that Cai doesn't talk that much. Min's the talker.

"Oh? What's your name?" I ask self-conscious about how weak my voice sounds and how bad my Chinese probably is. Again I wish I had paid more attention to what my grandparents taught me, but it never seemed very relevant at the time. Even though my grandparents told me they thought that learning Chinese was important I didn't know many people who spoke Chinese in the U.S., and the ones I did know were my grandparents' friends who usually spoke English as well. As a kid I mostly used Chinese as a secret code with my brother when we wanted to play tricks on our friends. I don't know what Cai means by a name like mine, but I want her to tell me.

"An English boy called me 'katniss.' He said I was 'prickly,'" she explains as she looks down at her hands where they nervously tug at the hem of her shirt. Her dark hair falls down around her ears a little. I want to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. God, she's beautiful.

"What does that mean?" she mumbles.

I shake myself out of the trance of watching her, but I don't know how to answer her question. Cai says the boy called her "prickly," and it doesn't sound like a compliment. "Katniss" is just a water plant. I don't understand why he'd have called her that. I decide to focus on the boy himself so I can figure it out.

"An English boy? Here?" I clarify.

"Yes. Years ago. He called me 'katniss' and said I was 'prickly.' What's 'prickly?'"

I lift my hand and dig my thumbnail into the pad of my index finger and say "prickly." Then I pull the blanket down from my chest and run my hand along my shirt up and down like I'm sewing the seam with a needle and thread. I push my thumb and index finger together like I'm holding a needle and bob my other index finger over what would be the top of the imaginary needle.

"Prickly," I tell her.

Then it dawns on me. The boy must have been saying "cactus." He was saying Cai was "prickly" like a "cactus." She's right to frown and look sad. That isn't a compliment.

She looks confused and maybe a little hurt. This isn't a good memory.

"But 'katniss' is a plant. Like a flower," I tell her. Cai lifts her eyes a little. Her eyes are so beautiful. I've gotta' stop thinking of her like this.

"I think you are like a flower," I blurt out, before I can stop myself. Then I wince. That's not the kind of statement that's going to discourage my growing fascination with Cai.

The edges of Cai's lips turn up just as she casts her eyes down. Her efforts don't hide the blush across her cheeks. I could tell her about the cactus part, but I feel bad enough that I explained "prickly" to her. Hopefully she won't think about that very much.

"You can call me 'katniss,'" Cai says. "I…I like it when you say it."

I'm pleasantly surprised, so much so that I can feel my cheeks burn. I hope she doesn't notice.

"Yes. I'd like that," I reply. Honestly, the boy is right. Cai is a little "prickly," but I don't think she means to be that way.

She smiles. She still isn't making eye contact. She's being polite, but to me she looks shy.

"Katniss," I say. She looks at me. "Thanks for the food. I feel better. You were right. I needed to eat."

She lifts her eyes a little more, looking satisfied with herself.


	4. Not Alone

Opening my eyes I expect to be looking down at a quiet landscape and not up into near total darkness, but I quickly realize that I'm not on the plane anymore. _Where am I?_ Reaching my hand to my aching head causes beads of sweat to fall down the side of my forehead. Though I am achy all over my leg hurts more than anything else, a fact I can't quite explain. Squinting my eyes closed tightly I try harder to remember what's happened.

I've had another nightmare, but I only remember the terror not the content. Perhaps I am still trapped in the nightmare, believing I am waking up within it while I'm really fast asleep in my bunk at the barracks or in my own soft bed back in Pittsburgh. Is that possible?

I vaguely remember being brought to wherever I am by unfamiliar people. Over the next few seconds the memory of the plane crash resurfaces in my consciousness. The fire, the heat, the sound of metal scraping metal, a shift in the plane's descent, something sharp digging into my thigh, a terrible scream, the smell of burning…burning. I jumped not because I knew it was the right time but to avoid the flames.

But _where am I now? _I ask myself again.

Becoming gradually more aware, I pass my hand across my hip and down to my thigh. Even before I touch it I can feel heat radiating from the place that hurts so badly. I very gently press my fingertips against the taut skin and find that it's hot and dry. Sighing with frustration, I push the back of my throbbing head a little harder against the unyielding surface below me.

_Not good. _

Something cold suddenly grazes my other arm and causes me to roll abruptly to the left. The side of my injured leg makes contact with the ground unexpectedly. The pain of the contact rips through me immediately, and I shift back the other way, lift my head and shoulders off the ground, and bend at the waist in a failed attempt to stop the rising pain. Surprisingly, the only sound I make is a strangled moan. Then I fall slightly forward and sideways, but not as far as I know I should. Instead, I'm caught by a pair of arms draped in soft cloth that feels cool against my hot skin. I shiver.

"Stay still," a quiet voice suggests. "You need to rest." I do become still. How can I not? Moving takes my breath away.

The voice is familiar, but interpreting the words takes a moment because they aren't spoken in English. They're in Chinese. Why Chinese?

I hear a scuffling sound, feel the arms I'm leaning on give a little, and then sense that I'm being lowered down slowly. I glance up to see the silhouette of a girl's face. The back of my head comes to rest in her lap, and she shifts her legs underneath my neck and shoulder. I exhale slowly, still not quite believing that I'm not alone.

"Delly," I choke out. It's dark. I can't see clearly, but it must be Delly here with me and holding me this way. I settle against her gratefully. But when I look up again I can see the moonlight shine on my companion's face. She's not Delly, though her face is known to me. I try to place the familiar image.

Delly is beautiful, but this girl looks beautiful to me in a different way. I'm fascinated by her high cheekbones, smooth skin, and piercing eyes. I want to keep looking at her. Her gentle hand grazes my neck, the other one wrapped around me so that she's cradling me in her arm as I rest in her lap. Her arm can't quite reach around me, but she tries none-the-less. And it doesn't matter, I feel safe lying in her lap. I have to close my eyes as my senses become overwhelmed with both pain and pleasure. What an odd mix of feelings.

I curl into the girl despite not remembering who she is. The coolness of her body is soothing. I'm too hot and begin to pluck at the front of my shirt with my fingers. But they don't work as they should. I drop my hand beside my face in frustration, feeling helpless at my inability to perform such a simple task. The girl flinches but then quiets again. Then I feel her hand on my chest, her fingers moving quickly to loosen the first button on my shirt. I shudder when her fingers move to the next button in the near darkness. Once another is loosened the cool air of the cave washes over the overheated skin of my chest, finally bringing me some relief. The girl brings her hand back to her lap and picks up my hand before slowly entwining my fingers with hers.

"Katniss," I whisper, as the memory of the girl sharing the story of her nickname suddenly comes back to me. "You're not 'prickly,'" I add. She squeezes my hand in response.

But her reassuring presence doesn't stop fear from gripping me again. A sense of doom washes over me a moment later, and I find myself unable to avoid telling the girl everything that's running through my head.

"I had a brother who died as a child," I explain, "I have another brother too. He's still alive. He's in Europe now. In the army. So, at least I hope he's still alive. But my brother who died years ago, he got sick. Very sick," I ramble. "My grandfather said one day he'd just fall asleep and never wake up..."

I stop midsentence to look at the girl again. She stares back at me intensely, her face illuminated again by the moonlight.

"Wait," I say with a sigh. "You don't understand me, do you?" I ask her. Her bewildered expression tells me that she does't even understand my question.

"My brother died," I tell her matter-of-factly in Chinese. I can feel her tense her leg muscles under my head. "He didn't just fall asleep when he was dying. He couldn't breathe," I went on.

_I've had dreams in Chinese, haven't I? Talking to her is something like that. _

"We all tried to pretend everything was all right for as long as we could. We didn't want to upset my brother, but I think he knew. He was the one comforting us and talking about how we'd be fine if anything happened to him. You know? He comforted _us," _I tell her. "But at the end he couldn't."

_Wait. I'm supposed to speak to her in Chinese. I forgot. _

I'd unknowingly switched back to English while talking about the brother that I'd lost.

"Where are we?" I ask in Chinese.

Katniss rubs the thumb of the hand that holds mine against my wrist.

"In a cave," she answers. "We are hiding you."

"A cave," I repeat.

"Yes," she answers.

My heart races in my chest again.

_Why am I not at home? Didn't I fly in an airplane somewhere? Is school out for Christmas?_

I look up at the girl who is holding me so tenderly. I've been speaking to her in Chinese.

"In China," I say, letting out a breath and melting into her just a little more with the realization of just how far away I am from those I love. Still, I'm so glad she's here with me.

"I'm not my brother," I blurt out in Chinese. "It wasn't supposed to be this way, and I can't make anybody feel better."

Katniss lowers her eyes solemnly.

I bend my knee because it has grown stiff and I feel like I need to move it. As the agony of my mistake hits me the girl wraps my head and shoulders in her arms tightly, and she doesn't let go. I breathe through the pain and then straighten my leg, inch by merciless inch. Overwhelmed by everything that's happening to me I rock gently back and forth. It's comforting, like something from long ago.

_My mother's arms. Sitting in a small rocking chair while I'm holding a book. A swing. The sound of metal scraping metal as the swing goes back and forth. _

The girl finally loosens her hold a little as I start to relax again. I feel so close to her. I _am_ so close to her while she leans over me like this. She brushes her hand through the hair just behind my ear, across my neck, and down my arm. Wanting her to keep touching me, I follow her hand with my own when it moves away.

"I don't want to be alone," I whisper before I can stop myself from saying it.

The girl's legs shake underneath me, and my chest feels unexpectedly full. I'm so lost, but I don't want to make this girl sad or afraid. Could what I'm asking of her be seen as using her in some terrible way? This kind of thing would be forbidden even at home. I can't imagine that it's acceptable here in China, but we aren't actually doing anything wrong. This girl is just trying to help me.

I reach out and touch her arm where it is wrapped around me. Her elbow is pressed tightly against her own body, and I can feel that she's shaking all over now. No, not shaking. It's more like a vibration. Maybe it's both. And then I hear her. She's singing softly.

Turning my head, I press my lips against her arm several times as I listen to her soft, sweet voice reverberate off the cave walls. I know I shouldn't kiss her, but these are kisses. I can't deny that. Emotions I never knew I had well up inside me. She continues to sing, and I listen as I nuzzle my cheek against her arm. I imagine pulling her down to me. At least I think I imagine it.

_Oh, God I hope I'm not actually doing that. I'm not, am I?_

She's not singing anymore. Right before the delirium pulls me under completely I feel her fingers brush my ear. Her lips touch mine. I sigh, let go of my hold on reality, and I sink back into unconsciousness.

/

_India 1944 – (two months before the plane crash)_

"_You'll never get lost with Mellark as your navigator, that's for sure," our pilot, John, boasts. "Best B-29 navigator we've got."_

_I roll my eyes. _

"_You ever get scared going over those mountains, the Himalayas?" our newest crew member, George, asks. John doesn't answer. _

"_They call the mountain range 'the hump,'" I explain, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I always feel better once we're past it"_

"_These B-29's…what're they really like? Do they have many problems?" George asks, trying yet again to engage John in conversation. The only comment John's made during the entire conversation with our new crewmember is the one about my navigation skills. I'm certain he's deliberately avoiding interacting with George. _

_John worries. Finding the idea of failing his crew completely unacceptable, he chooses to deny the possibility. Our lives rest in John's hands, especially as we fly over the Himalayas on our journey to the small bases in China. After a very brief stay at one of those bases we fly even further east. Some of our missions involve transporting supplies that will be used to fight the war in the Pacific. Others involve directly bombing Japanese targets. Once our mission is complete we make the long flight back, repeating the whole process in reverse. _

_At times I understand John's aloof attitude. When you are flying a plane and you are the only one aboard a mistake can easily result in your own death, but if you make a mistake flying a B-29 your whole crew can die with you. John takes that responsibility very seriously. I cover for his detachment, as usual. John says I can charm the fleas off a dog. _

"_Well, for a gunner like you the biggest risk is a fire control blister popping," I tell George. "With the pressurized cabin and the high altitudes you can blow right out of the plane if that happens." _

_He looks worried, and I can't blame him. Being assigned to a new type of aircraft is stressful after months of flying in something else. _

"_Just remember to wear your safety line. All the gunners need to wear them," I add. _

_He nods._

"_They've done some good work toward improving the engine problems on the B-29's," I say reassuringly. "We hear about fewer engine fires now." _

_There's an awkward pause. Airmen fear fire more than anything. Burning to death is a bad way to die, and we all heard stories about B-29 engines catching fire even before they came into service. Our newest crewmember would be wondering about those rumors._

_As if on cue John finally comes to life at that moment. He chuckles and slaps George on the shoulder. _

"_You know how we got the name 'The Mockingjay' for our B-29?" he asks._

_George shakes his head, of course. Planes are almost always given names, and there is usually a story behind the name. Some of the stories are more amusing than others._

"_Mellark wanted to call it 'The Mockingbird,' but I wanted 'The Blue Jay,'" he explains. "We compromised. Great name, isn't it?" John asks._

_The new fellow points to the illustration of our "mockingjay" on the nose of our B-29. "Yeah, but that painting looks a lot more like a girl inspired by a mockingbird than a blue jay," he says._

_He's right. When I painted the picture of a woman on the nose of the airplane I gave her dark mysterious eyes. She's wearing a smoky gray dress. Her raven-colored hair fans out over her shoulders, but the background behind her is a blue sky. In fact, I added the sky not in deference to John's blue jay idea but to make the rest of the painting show up against the metal armor of the B-29. _

"_Well, John can't paint. I can," I explain. "So the compromise went a little more my way than his."_

"_Why didn't you paint her topless?" George asks me while glancing toward another B-29 on the field which does have an illustration of a topless girl adorning it._

_John laughs exceptionally hard, this time at my expense, "Oh, you have a lot to learn about Peter Mellark if you think he's going to paint a topless girl on the nose of an airplane." John stares at the "mockingjay" painting for a moment. "She does look like she's mocking us, though." John says turning to me, "is that what you think of girls, Peter? Does Delly mock you?" John asks, referring to my fiancée back home. He's starting to make me angry. _

"_No," I say slipping my hands into my jacket pockets and grinning like I find the whole conversation hilarious. _

_John looks at the new fellow. _

"_Peter thinks he's a good liar, but he's not that good. The truth always comes out in the end. He wears his heart on his sleeve," John tells him before turning on his heel to face George. "What about you. You got a girl?" John asks him._

"_Na. Not yet. Someday," he answers._

"_No. Not someday. Soon. No time like the present," John's getting more animated by the second, and I have no idea what's gotten into him. "Here's what you do. We win this war, and you go home to Bufallo in your spiffy uniform." _

"_Tennessee, John. He's from Tennessee." I correct. George even sounds like he's from Tennessee and I wonder how John could be so wrong about remembering where he's from. _

"_You could go anywhere, you know? But let's say you go home to Tennessee," John continues. "You meet the girl of your dreams, and you tell her all about the war. You tell her how you were an airman and flew over the Himalayas, the highest mountains in the world. Hell, you can tell her you were the pilot. I don't care. You let her think that all of it was so," he pauses, "majestic," he finishes before throwing his hand up in the air for emphasis._

"_Majestic?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Are you drunk, John?"_

"_Stone cold sober," he says looking at me with an offended scowl before continuing. "You tell her it was amazing and that you were saving the world. And she'll have to go out with you."_

_I can feel the muscles of my face tightening into an expression of disbelief, "Is that what we're doing? Saving the world?"_

"_Hell no! I mean, I don't think so. Probably not. I don't think the world can be saved anyway," John stammers._

"_He's not usually like this," I tell George, who's by this point watching John with increasing trepidation. _

"_Then she'll fall in love with you," John adds. "And she'll never leave you. Never. She'll keep her promises to you. You'll be her hero. You can get married and have babies together," John explains. "It'll be great…"_

_I think I hear his voice crack at the end, and his expression falls flat. His eyes fall to his boots._

"_Is that what you're going to do?" George asks John. The question strikes me as odd, but somebody had to say something. _

"_John has a fiancée," I begin, covering for John's apparent absence from the conversation again. "That picture in his…"_

"_I don't have a fiancée," John interrupts. Then he swallows hard. "I got a letter from Penny. She. Um. She married somebody else. She said she was 'sorry.'"_

_He raises his gaze to meet mine, his eyes vacant and red._

"_When did that happen?" I ask, dumbfounded. He and Penny had been together for years, since they were 15 or something like that._

"_Yesterday," he mutters. "I mean, I got the letter yesterday. She's actually been married for longer."_

"_She couldn't wait 'til you got home to break your heart?" I shouted angrily, not even thinking about the fact that I am standing in the middle of an airfield. John looks around nervously. The airfield might be quiet because we are waiting on more fuel to arrive before flying more missions, but it is an airfield none the less. I manage to lower my voice a little. _

_John ponders my response for a moment before concluding, "I guess not." _

_George takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna' go," he says. "I'm meeting some guys. For. Uh. Something."_

"_Okay," I say without looking at him. If he's got any sense he'll understand._

_John's staring straight ahead with those vacant eyes. "Maybe she thought I wouldn't make it home," he says._

"_Then that's even worse," I tell him with a sigh. Then I catch myself. "And you're going to make it home. Don't talk like that anymore."_


	5. Water

_Peeta_

_Pennsylvania 1936 (age 13)_

"_Don't forget to bend your knees." Dad says smiling. "You're getting so tall."_

_We're both wearing white robes, which seems ridiculous to me even though I've seen people wear them a thousand times for this same purpose. I'm not sure how the church women get this dingy lake water out of them afterwards. Bleach, I guess. People are gathering by the lake to watch. The turnout is good, of course. Dad's baptizing thirty people. I'm just one of them. _

"_I won't forget. It would be embarrassing for you if I drowned," I tease him and am rewarded with one of his most genuine smiles._

_I love to see him smile. The last few years have been hard on him and my mother, and I often overhear them talking late into the night. She cries, and Dad talks to her softly. I'm not supposed to hear any of it, but I do. I think they are talking about my brother who died, and I miss him too. Maybe if we could talk about him anytime we wanted things would be better._

_I'm the last one in line at the lake, and when it's my turn I take Dad's hand and step down into the water which reaches my waist. _

"_This is my son, Peter," Dad says, another smile breaking across his face. It noticeably changes the cadence of his formal speaking voice. "Most of you know Peter," he goes on. Amused snickers can be heard coming from the crowd as Dad continues. "He comes today to publicly profess his faith and be baptized before this congregation. Is that correct, Peter?"_

_The crowd is silent as I softly answer, "yes." Then, anticipating the next few moments, I take a deep breath, put my hand over my mouth, and pinch my nose closed with my fingers. _

_"I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," my father says. His voice catches, and he pauses. His hands seem unsteady when he places one over the hand I'm resting it across my nose and mouth and his other hand on my back. Closing my eyes, I do all the work of leaning back into the water because I know Dad's tired. At the last second he dunks my head underneath the surface of the lake, but I can still hear his muffled voice saying, "We are buried with Christ in Baptism." My toes search for the lake bottom again and when they find purchase I start to stand up. My face breaks the surface of the water a fraction of a second later. "And we are raised to walk in a new life," Dad finishes. _

_Our hands drop to my side, and Dad squeezes mine. _

_/_

Cold water splashes my face, and I startle awake sputtering and gasping.

"Sorry. So sorry," Cai tells me, laying an open hand on my heaving chest. In her other hand she holds some kind of pottery pitcher, but she quickly sits it down to brush some of my drenched hair off my forehead. Her eyes dart up and down my body, looking me over worriedly.

"I had to wake you for you to drink," Cai explains in a flustered tone. "My mother says nobody lives long without water."

I nod and raise my gaze to meet her concerned one, but I wonder why the dousing with water was necessary just to wake me. Was I really that out of it? Looking out toward the mouth of the cave I notice that it's dusk, but I don't know what day it is. Now I know why people scratch tally marks in the walls of jail cells. It's so they know how long they've been imprisoned. I try to ask Cai what day it is, but my mouth is so dry that I can't form words.

"See. Drink," Cai encourages as she pushes a metal cup filled with lukewarm water into the palm of my hand. I wrap my fingers tightly around it, put it to my lips, and am starting to take a sip when I'm struck by the memory of Cai's lips brushing mine. My eyes grow wide, and I grimace with embarrassment. Cai cocks her head to the side curiously as I lower my gaze in an attempt to hide my reactions. I don't even know if what I remember actually happened. Did I pull Cai down to me as I'd wanted to do? Did her lips brush mine? Did she want that?

I wonder if Cai hates me…or will hate me, and I can't bear that thought. She's one of the few human beings I have contact with anymore. She doesn't _act _like she hates me. And Delly. What would Delly say if she could see what's been happening with Cai? I'm simply trying to survive. There's still a chance that I might be able to get back home. But Delly would be so upset if she knew I'd touched another girl. I close my eyes tightly and try to picture Delly's sweet smile, sincere eyes, and soft blonde curls. Then I reach my hand up to the pocket of my uniform, but I don't feel the stiff paper of the photograph of Delly I've been carrying there during my time in the war. It probably fell apart in the water of the rice paddy and was washed away in pieces by whoever cleaned my uniform. Suddenly I ache to have that little piece of paper back, to hold it in the palm of my hand as I have so many times before.

Cai, apparently sensing my distress, pulls on my shoulders awkwardly. I attempt to sit up so I can get into a better position for drinking. Once I'm almost sitting Cai quickly plops down with her back pressed up against mine, making sure I stay upright despite my weakness. I take a few sips of water and realize how good it feels against my parched lips and mouth. Cai feels good too, so good.

I close my eyes again, willing my thoughts to shift back to my fiancée. The night before I left home for the army comes to mind. Delly and I leaned up against that rocky ledge overlooking the valley at the state park for so long that the chill from the ground finally reached my bones. You'd think that all the kissing and caressing would have kept me warm, but fear had set in also.

"We should probably be getting back to the car," I told Delly. "Your parents might be worried about you."

"Oh, I doubt that. I'm with you. And we deserve some time to say…well, you know. People understand."

"_Goodbye_." _She couldn't even admit that we were saying goodbye._

"I'd stay here all night with you if I could," she continued, and she snuggled her cheek against the side of my body, tickling the skin over my ribs.

"And why don't you?" I asked in a whisper, the words coming out more suggestively than I'd intended.

Delly grinned.

"Because you're already feeling guilty about the ration cards we used for the gas to drive all the way out here, and you're concerned about whether my parents are worried about me. No reason to add to that when I can just try to make you happy for a little while. You're very predictable, Peter. That's one reason I love you."

"Dependable. I prefer the term dependable," I told her as I leaned in to kiss her again.

"Don't worry. My father won't mind," she said, fighting my attempts to distract her. "About the ration cards, I mean," Delly continued. "Besides, I'm loaning my country _you, _Peter. That's enough of a sacrifice, don't you think?" She lowered her head so that I ended up kissing her forehead instead of her lips. Then she ran her hand across my chest and buried her face in my shoulder.

"I'm so afraid," Delly admitted in a trembling voice. "Why is this happening?"

"I'm sorry," I blurt out to Cai as my thoughts shift back to the present. "I was so sick. I wasn't thinking. I hope I didn't do anything…" I try to think of the right word in Chinese. I'm looking for something like 'disrespectful,' but respect is rather a different concept here. I have to be careful I choose the right word, and I can't think of any of the right ones at the moment. "I hope I didn't do anything wrong," I finally say, not sure if that wording is any better.

I feel Cai shift a little behind me.

"Keep drinking. You are better today," she says, her voice lifting hopefully at the end of the sentence.

My fever is down. That's for sure. My leg is still disturbingly red and swollen, but as long as I don't move it too much the pain's more tolerable.

Cai continues to sit behind me quietly. If anything about me has made her feel uncomfortable, at least she hasn't given up on taking care of me. For the moment I'm dependent on her and her family.

She shifts again, and I wonder if Cai knows what I truly meant when I said, "sorry."

"You were kind, and I shouldn't have…" I begin. Then I stop, unsure of what else to say. What if some of the things I remember didn't even happen?

I hear Cai swallow. Suddenly her hand covers mine, her fingers stroking my skin. Her hands are calloused and rough from work, but that friction in her touches only makes them more intriguing.

"I am glad you are better, Peeta," Cai tells me.

My fingers tremble under hers. Her touch sends frissons of electricity up my arm. I am sure she feels it too.

_Oh, no. I can't do this. Not here. Not with Cai. What about Delly? I can't do this. I'm just lonely. That's all. Perhaps Cai is just as lonely, but none of that would be an excuse for acting on some fleeting feelings. _

There's the sound of rocks being moved at the mouth of the cave, and Min crawls inside moments later.

"Mother says we have to wash that wound," she announces.

I can just make out enough to understand that she's boiled some strips of cloth and that they will wash the wound with the ones that are still wet and wrap it with the ones that have dried.

"Uncover your leg. Just your leg," Min says matter-of-factly. She's sounds just like her mother. She's probably going to start tossing items around the cave any minute since she's already ordering everybody around. Cai warns me that she's going to move and slowly removes herself from supporting me. She waits patiently for a moment to make sure I'm able to sit up unassisted, and I'm surprised to find that I can. When Cai crawls around to where I can see her again I notice that she looks flushed and avoids my knowing glances. Min passes Cai the bowl of water she dragged in from outside the cave.

"You have to learn to do this by yourself," Min tells her with a firm tone. "Mother and I have to go…"

"I know. I know," Cai says.

Min returns to the task at hand by slowly untying the bandages. When the last layer pulls at the wound and I flinch, Cai squeezes my shoulder gently with her hand. I relax more than I thought I could. Min's eyes briefly glance at her sister's gesture. Cai looks down at the wound, wincing a little and then softening her expression when she sees me watching at her.

Min puts her finger in the water.

"Not too hot," she points out to Cai. Then she stares at Cai as if waiting for her to continue the process of cleaning the wound.

Cai hesitantly pours the water over my leg spilling a little of it on the blanket. She dabs the cloth against the wound but looks away twice as she works. I watch her, unable to tear my eyes away. Watching her somehow dulls the pain.

"How does your mother know all this?" I ask.

"She's a healer. She learned in the city when she was young," Cai explains.

"What city?" I ask.

She doesn't answer, only looks away. Min takes over dressing the wound. I turn my head and watch as Cai leaves the cave, wondering what made her leave so abruptly. I had thought for years that I didn't have the stomach for being a doctor, but apparently Cai is much more squeamish than I am.

I hear a man's voice as Cai nears the entrance of the cave and look nervously to Min.

"It's all right," she tells me.

/

Cai

Gao is soft on his feet, but I can hear him. Years of living in the same family makes him so familiar to me that I can almost recognize his breathing as distinct from Min's or my mother's. By comparison, knowing his footsteps or sensing his presence is easy. He watches me sometimes, and I used to think it was simply because he was growing older and closer to the time that we'd be old enough to marry. When that time for marriage came and went I found explanations for his behavior harder to come by. What was his interest in me if not as a wife? Why did he stare?

Now that Peeta is here I've noticed that Gao watches me even more intensely. Could he be jealous? He hasn't followed me into the cave when I care for Peeta at all, but he certainly seems to know when I'm there. So when I hear his footsteps outside the cave I decide to go out to talk to him. Min seems to intuitively understand. Perhaps she's noticed the increase in his quiet observations of me also.

"So how's the ghost?" he asks, referring to Peeta.

"Are you asking if he's dead?" I reply sarcastically.

"No. If he were dead you wouldn't be out here. He's what pulls you away from where you should be."

"And where should I be, Gao?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Though he holds all the power in our relationship at the moment Gao often backs down if I challenge him. I've come to believe that he feels badly for letting me down and rejecting the life his father planned for him.

"By the way, his name is Peeta. We should probably call him that," I tell Gao.

"Really? So how is _Peeta_ then?" Gao asks, raising an eyebrow.

I sigh and shake my head. "He had a bad night last night. A fever."

"But he'll live?" Gao asks.

"How would I know," I answer, frustration clear in my voice.

Gao curses, and I startle from the shock of hearing it. He doesn't usually say such words in front of me, and even amongst the men of our community he usually avoids them. "He's going to get us all killed, Cai. Why did you insist on going back for him?" Gao asks in a harsh whisper.

I start to walk away, but Gao grabs my arm and I quickly turn toward him again.

"They'll come looking for survivors, Cai. The Japanese. They'll send soldiers."

"Why would they?"

"Because there are survivors sometimes. In this case, one survivor."

I pause, a shiver running down my spine at the thought of soldiers here at our farm. But Gao is always trying to manipulate me, and I won't let him do it this time.

"Stop it, Gao. If the soldiers come then it will be because that plane crashed in our rice paddy, not because we're hiding Peeta…"

"But if they find out we helped him in any way it will be a thousand times worse than if we'd just left him in the rice paddy," Gao interrupts. "We should put him back where we found him and make everything look as it did before."

I stare at Gao for a moment, unable to wrap my mind around the idea of exposing Peeta to that kind of danger. While it's true that I thought it would be better if he died when I first brought Min out to see him in the field, now I know him.

"I just want to keep you safe, and what about your mother? What about Min?" Gao adds, touching my arm gently with his fingertips.

As I'm listening to him I wonder why he doesn't just say, "we're putting Peeta back where we found him." I question why he doesn't use the authority I know he probably could exert over me. And then I realize something. Gao still wants me on his side. He wants me to willingly be whatever I am to him, even if he only thinks of me as a something like a sister.

"You can't keep me safe. There is no 'safe' anymore," I tell him. "Leave Peeta alone, Gao."

"I'll decide whether I leave him alone, and I'll actually consider people other than myself when I do it," he answers.

I turn away quickly, before Gao can stop me again. As I make my way out to the field I wonder if I should have tried to calm Gao. If he became angry enough, could he hurt Peeta? Kill him?

I stop walking, sobered by the thought of Gao killing this man I met only a few days ago. Gao could certainly kill if he thought he was shielding us from harm. Normally I'd be proud and grateful for his protectiveness, but I don't want Peeta to die.


End file.
